walking slowly, with a little staccato rhythm as her good leg alternated with the thump of her crutch. She walked through the door and stood at the top of the steps.
“Question for you, Reacher,” Fowler called down. “How far can you run in a half hour with a hundred and twenty pounds on your back?”
Reacher shrugged.
“Not far enough, I guess,” he said.
Fowler nodded.
“Right,” he said. “Not far enough. If she’s not standing right here in thirty minutes, we’ll come looking for you. We’ll give it a two-mile radius.”
Reacher thought about it and nodded. A half hour with a hundred and twenty pounds on his back might get him more than two miles. Two miles was probably pessimistic. But he thought back to the map on Borken’s wall. Thought about the savage terrain. Where the hell would he run? He made a show of checking his watch. Fowler walked away, up behind the ruined office building. The guards slung their weapons over their shoulders and stood easy. Holly smoothed her hair back. Stood face up to the pale sun.
“Can you walk for a while?” Reacher asked her.
“Slowly,” she said.
She set off north along the middle of the deserted street. Reacher strolled beside her. They waited until they were out of sight. They glanced at each other. Then they turned and flung themselves together. Her crutch toppled to the ground and he lifted her a foot in the air. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.
“I’m going crazy in there,” she said.
“I’ve got bad news,” he said.
“What?” she said.
“They had a helper in Chicago,” he said.
She stared up at him.
“They were only gone five days,” he said. “That’s what Fowler said at the trial. He said Loder had been gone just five days.”
“So?” she said.
“So they didn’t have time for surveillance,” he said. “They hadn’t been watching you. Somebody told them where you were going to be, and when. They had help, Holly.”
The color in her face drained away. It was replaced by shock.
“Five days?” she said. “You sure?”
Reacher nodded. Holly went quiet. She was thinking hard.
“So who knew?” he asked her. “Who knew where you’d be, twelve o’clock Monday? A roommate? A friend?”
Her eyes were darting left and right. She was racing through the possibilities.
“Nobody knew,” she said.
“Were you ever tailed?” he asked.
She shrugged helplessly. Reacher could see she desperately wanted to say yes, I was tailed. Because he knew to say no was too awful for her to contemplate.
“Were you?” he asked again.
“No,” she said quietly. “By a bozo like one of these? Forget it. I’d have spotted them. And they’d have had to hang around all day outside the Federal Building, just waiting. We’d have picked them up in a heartbeat.”
“So?” he asked.
“My lunch break was flexible,” she said. “It varied, sometimes by a couple of hours either way. It was never regular.”
“So?” he asked again.
She stared at him.
“So it was inside help,” she said. “Inside the Bureau. Had to be. Think about it, no other possibility. Somebody in the office saw me leave and dropped a dime.”
He said nothing. Just watched the dismay on her face. “A mole inside Chicago,” she said. A statement, not a question. “Inside the Bureau. No other possibility. Shit, I don’t believe it.”
Then she smiled. A brief, bitter smile.
“And we’ve got a mole inside here,” she said. “Ironic, right? He identified himself to me. Young guy, big scar on his forehead. He’s undercover for the Bureau. He says we’ve got people in a lot of these groups. Deep undercover, in case of emergency. He called it in when they put the dynamite in my walls.”
He stared back at her.
“You know about the dynamite?” he said.
She grimaced and nodded.
“No wonder you’re going crazy in there,” he said.
Then he stared at her in a new panic.
“Who does this undercover guy call in to?” he asked urgently.
“Our office in Butte,” Holly said. “It’s just a satellite office. One resident agent. He communicates by radio. He’s got a transmitter hidden out in the woods. But he’s not using it now. He says they’re scanning the frequencies.”
He shuddered.
“So how long before the Chicago mole blows his cover?” he said.
Holly went paler.
“Soon, I guess,” she said. “Soon as somebody figures we were headed out in this direction. Chicago will be dialing up the computers and trawling for any reports coming out of Montana. His stuff will be top of the damn pile. Christ, Reacher, you’ve got to get to him first. You’ve got to warn him. His name is Jackson.”
They turned back. Started hurrying south through the ghost town.
“He says he can break me out,” Holly said. “Tonight, by jeep.”
Reacher nodded grimly.
“Go with him,” he said.
“Not without you,” she said.
“They’re sending me anyway,” he said. “I’m supposed to be an emissary. I’m supposed to tell your people it’s hopeless.”
“Are you going to go?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Not if I can help it,” he said. “Not without you.”
“You should go,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”
He shook his head again.
“I am worrying about you,” he said.
“Just go,” she said. “Forget me and get out.”
He shrugged. Said nothing.
“Get out if you get the chance, Reacher,” she said. “I mean it.”
She looked like she meant it. She was glaring at him.
“Only if you’re gone first,” he said finally. “I’m sticking around until you’re out of here. I’m definitely not leaving you with these maniacs.”
“But you can’t stick around,” she said. “If I’m gone, they’ll go apeshit. It’ll change everything.”
He looked at her. Heard Borken say: she’s more than his daughter.
“Why, Holly?” he said. “Why will it change everything? Who the hell are you?”
She didn’t answer. Glanced away. Fowler strolled into view, coming north, smoking. He walked up to them. Stopped right in front of them. Pulled his pack.
“Cigarette?” he asked.
Holly looked at the ground. Reacher shook his head.
“She tell you?” Fowler asked. “All the comforts of home?”
The guards were standing to attention. They were in a sort of honor guard on the courthouse steps. Fowler
